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The Homecoming
    by Patricia Pellicane

    Freya’s Bower.com ©2009
Culver City, CA

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    Homecoming
    Copyright © 2010 by Patricia Pellicane
    For information on the cover illustration and design, contact [email protected].
Cover art Freya’s Bower © 2010
    Editor: Teresa Rozich
    ISBN: N/A
    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
    This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
    Warning:
    This book may contain graphic sexual material and/or profanity and is not meant to be read by any person under the age of 18.
    If you are interested in purchasing more works of this nature, please stop by www.freyasbower.com .
    Freya’s Bower.com
P.O. Box 4897
Culver City, CA 90231-4897
    Printed in The United States of America

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    It was dark. Meg Carson sighed and, with a weary step, exited the airport taxi. She hoped Jack was home. She’d left five days ago and was anxious to once again feel the comfort of her own bed. She needed to breathe in the familiar scent of her soft sheets, luxuriate in a hot tub of soothing bath salts. And she wanted to do it all with Jack. With her suitcase and purse in hand, she made her way up the lit walkway to her front door.
    Inside, the balcony doors at the back of the house stood open. Gossamer thin drapes billowed in the night’s gentle breeze. Maggie took a moment to breathe its scent, and allow the soothing sounds of a gently rolling ocean to ease her travel stress. Thank God, she and Jack had managed to find this house. The long, sometimes blistering days under the Texas summer sun were easily managed by comfortable breezes off cooler waters. But tonight, like most nights, the two of them needed only an open window to bring them relief from a day’s heat.
    She loved it.
    “Jack? I’m home,” she called out, only to receive silence as a response.
    A quick glance told her the terrace and all the rooms downstairs were empty. She left her bag and purse in the front hallway and made her way upstairs. In her bedroom, at the base of a fresh vase of white Carnations, her favorite flowers, she found a note.
    Look in the bath. Enjoy. I’ll be right back.
    Jack had a particular liking for moonlight swims, and Meg supposed he was enjoying one at the moment.
    She smiled when she entered their bathroom. The tub, easily big enough for two, was surrounded with the soft light of scented candles and filled with steamy water. On its wide rim stood a glass of white wine. The scene was deliciously seductive. It lacked only the principal players. She laughed, dropping her wrinkled skirt and blouse into a basket meant for the dry cleaners, and her under things into the hamper. Meg slid into the warm, silky water and sighed her pleasure. It was beyond luxury. Heat soaked into her achy muscles, softening and relaxing them. She couldn’t imagine anything better, unless it was sharing this luscious moment with Jack.
    She leaned back and sipped from the cold, crisp liquid, and waited. Her heart fluttered in anticipation at the sound of the glass door sliding closed. The click of a lock was clear in the silent house.
    He was back.
    Her body hummed with excitement. She’d been married almost two years and just the thought of the man, and what they would be doing in the next few minutes, had the power to make her cream.
    Damn, but she needed to feel his hands on her, his mouth stealing her breath. A pulse throbbed in her throat at the faint sound of footsteps. He was coming into their room.
    And then, only silence filled the night.
    Where was he? Why hadn’t he come to join her in the tub?
    “Jack,” she called out. “Did you have a good swim? The flight